I began following Tesla’s range-maximization guidelines, which
meant dispensing with such battery-draining amenities as warming
the cabin and keeping up with traffic. I turned the climate
control to low — the temperature was still in the 30s — and
planted myself in the far right lane with the cruise control set
at 54 miles per hour (the speed limit is 65). Buicks and
18-wheelers flew past, their drivers staring at the
nail-polish-red wondercar with California dealer plates.

Nearing New York, I made the first of several calls to Tesla
officials about my creeping range anxiety. The woman who had
delivered the car told me to turn off the cruise control; company
executives later told me that advice was wrong. All the while, my
feet were freezing and my knuckles were turning white.